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Monday, August 23, 2010

These last couple of weeks have been jam-packed with busy. So jam-packed, and so busy, that I didn't get the opportunity to write this letter to you on August 13th, as I had intended to do. It's not that August 13th, as a date, is terribly relevant to the subject of this letter. It's that August 13th was a 'Friday the 13th', which you'll come to find out is, supersitiously, considered to be an un-lucky day.

March 13th, 2009 was also a Friday the 13th. That particular Friday the 13th was the day that I peed on a stick (well, two sticks, technically, since your father didn't believe the first one) and saw two little lines (four lines, total) that told me you were on your way.

It is no secret that finding out we were pregnant with you was a suprise. And I do mean surpise. NOT "mistake". NOT "accident". NOT "oops". A surpise. A GOOD surprise. You are, without question, the baby that was meant for us; we just happened to be unaware that you'd be making your entrance into our lives as soon as you did!

When we found out you were coming, we were so excited! We were scared, too, as I imagine all first-time parents-to-be are, but so very, VERY excited. Your grand-parents (all 8 of them!) were very excited too, and couldn't wait to start spoiling you. It took a few days (and a blood test from the doctor) for it to sink in that we were really pregnant. In those first few days of adjusting to the idea of becoming parents, we started speculating about you. Who would you look like? Would you have daddy's eyes? My hair color? Would you be a boy or a girl? What would we name you? Would you be a Scorpio, or would you hold out to be a Saggitarius?

All of our questions would be answered in time. One thing was clear to me immediately. I would never consider 'Friday the 13th' to be unlucky, ever again. Every time another one rolls around, I smile, and quietly celebrate the day that I found out that one of my life's dreams would be fulfilled; the day that I found out that I would become a mother. YOUR mother. Friday the 13th is a lucky day, indeed.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Today, you are 9 months old. In what is becoming a common theme, I can't seem to figure out where all the time has gone. 9 months. 39 weeks. You were born when I was 39 weeks and 3 days pregnant (or so they say), which means that in a few short days, you'll have been on the outside of me for longer than you were on the inside of me.

You were easier to take care of on the inside, but are so much more fun on the outside. You are an absolute blast, and you seem to be enjoying life completely. You've been giggling and letting out short little laughs for what feels like forever, but last night, for the first time, you started shrieking with laughter and letting out long bouts of belly laughs. Daddy and I couldn't help but laugh ourselves, which made you laugh longer and harder, which made US laugh longer and harder. Our home was filled with nothing but joyous laughter for the better part of the time I was preparing dinner. The love was just dripping off of all of us. If we all had 10 moments in life that could be bottled and saved forever, that was one I'd choose, without question.

At 9 months old, you've hit many big milestones. You hardly ever tip over anymore when you're sitting and playing. You can stand with assistance from us or nearby furtniture for several minutes. You roll everywhere. You often fall asleep on your own, without nursing. You have two adorable little teeth.

Your favorite toys are your little piano, your new "laptop" from Grandma Laurel, Sophie the Giraffe, and your orange stuffed lion. You LOVE crinkling paper. You also love licking the wood floors and sucking on your feet. You love to eat noodles and pancakes, and still prefer vegetables to fruit. You can pick up smaller pieces of food and get them into your mouth. Asparagus still seems to be your favorite food.

Today, someone said to me "Before you know it, she will be a teenager." My heart skipped a beat. I can't even imagine you with hair, much less as a teenager (or even a kindergartner, for that matter). You are my little baby! My sweet, precious, smiley little Dilly. Dilly illy illy. You certainly won't have me calling you that when you're a teenager. Can we make a deal? Can I still call you Dilly, and my little big stuff, and butternut, and monkey, as long as I promise not to do it when your friends are around? Please?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

When you were a newborn, I used to jokingly tell you to "Use your words!" when you would get upset. It's hard for me to judge whether you're officially using words yet, but your verbal skills are certainly advancing by leaps and bounds.

The range of sounds, tones, and volumes that come out of you is impressive. First thing in the morning, you start off with a few minutes of excited whispering. It's as if you're softly saying 'Pssssst....this is gonna be a fun day, huh?' It's like you give me a few minutes to become fully awake, but gently let me know that you are up and ready to greet the day and see what it has to offer. The difference in decibels from your sweet little whisper to your excited (and looooong) shouts is startling. At times, it seems like you even surprise yourself with the crescendo of your AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Over the past few weeks, you’ve grown fond of squeezing your eyes shut and loudly sort of humming: MMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHH!!! Every time you make this noise, it’s with your eyes tightly closed, your jaw thrust forward, and it is always followed by a proud smile.

The complexity of the syllables that you string together is such that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were making sentences. You regularly “say” things that sound like “I did it!”, “Hi Dad!”, “Dada did it!”, “I love dada!”, and the list goes on. You sing “lalalalalala” and “nanananana”. The other day, I swear you looked at Nala and said “Cat!” There’s been no sign of “mama” yet, but I'm trying not to take that personally.

In addition to your vocal abilities, you’ve begun to absorb and use the sign for “milk”. I’ve tried to be somewhat consistent with making the ASL sign for “milk” when I nurse you. You’ve started mimicking other motions; Daddy taught you how to shake your head (though I don’t think you’ve figured out that it means ‘no’ yet!), so when I first saw you awkwardly squeezing your hand together with your palm toward you face, I assumed you were trying to figure out how to wave. I mentioned it to Daddy, and when he saw you do it, he said that he thought you were signing milk! It went right over my head! The next time you started doing it, I started nursing you, and you smiled up at me and made the sign again while nursing.

While we’ve got a long way to go before you’re speaking clearly or signing consistently, the time when your only means of communication was crying is behind us. This new adventure has been among the most fun so far. What should we start signing next?